


The Annoyance Known as Beren

by certain_as_the_sun



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Crack, Daeron is not amused, Finrod wishes he never left Valinor, I'm Sorry Tolkien, Love at First Sight, M/M, Maedhros needs a drink, Námo is not happy, Things are bad when Thingol is the only sane Elf, What Was I Thinking?, nobody dies permanently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-12 14:04:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10492488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/certain_as_the_sun/pseuds/certain_as_the_sun
Summary: Beren falls in love with an Elf and Daeron gains an unwanted admirer.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ...I have no idea where this silly thing came from. I don't even _like_ half these characters (actually, that might explain a lot). It was supposed to be an attempt to make the "Lúthien sees a random human shouting "Nightingale!" and immediately falls in love" thing half-way realistic. Instead...
> 
> Warning: crackiness and characters acting in utterly out-of-character ways.
> 
> There's now a German translation available, thanks to Phyna! It can be read here: https://www.fanfiktion.de/s/5a8af1860001db3d1de2696b/1/Das-Argernis-namens-Beren

Daeron had his day planned out. He would spend the morning and most of the afternoon composing and practicing. He would spend the rest of the afternoon and possibly some of the evening playing for Lúthien. Then he and Saeros would go and have a drink with Oropher.

It was late afternoon, and his day had gone exactly according to plan. He had written a new piece, and now he played it as Lúthien danced. All seemed well with the world.

Then a Man fell on top of him.

 

* * *

 

Beren heard the music first. Initially he thought his ears were deceiving him. For months he had wandered through forests filled with unimaginable horrors. He fully expected to find a few giant spiders or worse lurking in this one, peaceful though it seemed. And so, when instead of the shrieks of monsters he heard a flute somewhere in the distance, he thought he imagined it. Then he thought it was a trick of Morgoth's.

He stood still and listened. The playing continued. It couldn't be his imagination; it was too beautiful for that. It couldn't be one of Morgoth's deceptions; everything he created, whether it was Orcs or living, carnivorous trees (one of the many things he had encountered over the last months), was a corrupted mockery of something else.

Beren listened a moment longer, then started walking in the direction of the music.

He should have paid more attention to where he was going. The forest floor abruptly fell away to make a glade that was almost a small valley. Beren walked off the edge of the higher ground and fell head over heels. He landed on something that let out a shrill scream.

There was a confused moment as Beren and the person he'd landed on tried to get up at the same time, got in each other's way, and fell down again. Just to make the situation even more embarrassing, someone was laughing.

"Lúthien! Get it off me!" wailed whoever Beren was lying on top off.

Beren pushed himself off them and scrambled to his feet, offended at being called an "it". Once he was out of the way they got up and dusted themselves off, glaring at him as if he'd planned this entire fiasco. That was when he noticed three things. One, a woman was leaning against a tree and laughing until she cried. Two, both the woman and the person glaring at him were Elves. And three, the second Elf was the most beautiful person he'd ever seen.

 

* * *

 

Saeros heard Daeron's return before he saw him. Or more accurately, he heard Lúthien's laughter, and the occasional angry interjection from Daeron.

"Lúthien, stop it!" Laughter. "It wasn't funny!" More laughter. "Why do you take so much joy in my humiliation?" Even more laughter. "STOP LAUGHING!"

Saeros listened with avid interest. Something had clearly happened, something highly embarrassing to Daeron, and he would find out what if it was the last thing he did.

The door was thrown open and Daeron stormed in. He didn't look pleased to find Saeros sprawled out in one of _his_ chairs, helping himself to a bottle of  _his_ wine.

"What happened?" Saeros asked.

Daeron scowled. "None of your business! How do you know something happened?"

"Everyone from here to Balar is bound to have heard Lúthien's laughter. Now, what happened?" There was a pause, during which Daeron resolutely glared out the window. "If you don't tell me I'll ask Lúthien."

"You wouldn't!"

"Daeron. The last piece of gossip I could share with the rest of the council was about Prince Celeborn and that arrogant Noldo woman. That is now over two months old. If you don't tell me what's happened I will go to Lúthien."

"Some friend you are," Daeron grumbled. "There was a Man in the woods. He fell on top of me. That's all." Saeros waited. "He was insane and raving." Saeros continued to wait. "...He might have proposed to me."

 

* * *

 

There were times when Elu Thingol honestly wondered if he was the only sane Elf in Doriath. Then there were times like this, when he _knew_ he was the only sane Elf in Doriath. He sat back in his throne and buried his head in his hands as everyone around him talked loudly enough to bring the roof down. Apparently the entire city knew more about this fiasco than he did. He would have to have words with all of them on the subject of who was actually ruling the kingdom and therefore should be the first to know everything; they appeared to have forgotten.

"Silence!" he yelled.

The throne room quietened at once.

"Now, I want this situation explained clearly and quietly. Daeron, you seem to be in the middle of this. Would you please tell me why my daughter is obsessed with a Man who is obsessed with you? Why," Thingol paused to give said Man a disgusted glance. Thanks to one of Melian's enchantments, the object of his scorn hadn't even the decency to be awake enough to notice, "is the Man in my kingdom? And why did I hear about this through my council's gossip chain?"

Daeron looked abjectly miserable. "Your Majesty, I was playing for your daughter a week ago and this Man stumbled upon us. He was clearly insane, so I brought Lúthien back to the city in case he became dangerous. I thought he had left the forest. Then he barged into my house."

There was several hastily muffled giggles, mostly from the direction of Thingol's councilors. He pretended not to hear them, or to see the smile Melian bit back.

"Why didn't you warn us there was a Man in the forest? And how did he know know where your house was?"

"I told Saeros. Everything he knows, the entire city knows."

There was an offended snort from where Saeros was sitting next to Oropher's son. Thingol gave the councilor the same chilling glare that had silenced rebellious daughters, Kinslaying Noldor, and squabbling guards. It proved its effectiveness yet again. Thingol turned his attention back to Daeron, who was still speaking.

"Would you repeat that last sentence?"

"Lúthien led the Man to my house."

Thingol could count on one hand how many times he'd been shocked speechless. This was one of those times. He looked first to Melian, who appeared as bewildered as he was, then to Lúthien.

"It's true, Father," she said. "I thought it would help Beren."

"Help the _Man_?" Daeron's usually musical voice was a high-pitched squawk. "What about _me_? What do you think I thought when that-" he caught Melian's eye and hurriedly changed what he was about to say, "that Aftercomer stormed into my home and proclaimed its undying love for me?!"

The council didn't bother to muffle their laughter this time.

"Silence!" Thingol's patience ran out. "The next person I see laughing will be put in the dungeons!"

Melian gave him a disapproving frown. _Losing your temper will not help matters, dear,_ she reproved him through their bond.

Thingol took a deep breath. "Explain, Lúthien."

"I wondered how a Man could be in the forest, so I went to find him, and he was in such a dreadful state, Father! I felt so sorry for him that I brought him food and clean clothes, and he recovered!"

 _He can't have been in a dreadful state if he recovered so quickly,_ Thingol thought.

"His name is Beren, and he thinks he's in love with Daeron. I thought that introducing him to Daeron would help."

Thingol loved his daughter, but there was no denying that sometimes she could be the most stupid person he'd ever met.

"How would that help?" he asked.

"Beren doesn't love Daeron; he loves who he thinks he is. I thought that if they met, Beren would realise what he feels isn't love." Maybe Lúthien wasn't as idiotic as he thought. "And once he loses interest in Daeron, he will fall in love with me."

_What._

"I will see that Man in the pits of Angband before I let him fall in love with you!" Thingol roared.

Lúthien opened her mouth.

"Enough." Melian's voice was little more than a whisper, but it quelled Lúthien's protests - and the council's hilarity; who did they think they were fooling when they hid their faces in their hands? - more effectively than her husband's shouts. "We will speak of this later, Lúthien. Now, the only party involved who has not yet given his side of the story is the Man himself. Shall I wake him?"

Daeron took a step back. Unfortunately for him, a group of spectators were so close behind him that he bumped into one, tripped, and sat down in Prince Celeborn's lap. As his minstrel and his kinsman disentangled themselves, Thingol closed his eyes and fought to keep his temper in check. No wonder the Noldor looked down on the Sindar.

Melian ignored the latest commotion in favour of waking the Man from his enchantment-induced daze. The first person Beren saw upon waking up was Lúthien. He gave her a smile. There was nothing but friendship and gratitude in his smile. It still made Thingol long to chase him out of Doriath with a sword. Instead he forced himself to speak as calmly as possible.

"We have summoned you here to answer two questions. One, how do you come to be in Doriath, and two, why did you alarm my minstrel?" He had been going to say "attack"; that was the word Daeron had used when he interrupted his breakfast with Melian, ranting about an insane Man. That depiction of events had obviously been an exaggeration, so Thingol settled for "alarm".

"I was lost in the forest, Your Majesty," said the Man. "I heard music, and when I followed the sound I found Daeron." A disturbingly dreamy, adoring look crept into the Man's eyes. "He is so beautiful-"

"Yes, yes, we don't need to hear that," Thingol cut him off there. He had no patience for the love-sick ramblings of infatuated mortals, or the increasingly loud chortles from the spectators. Daeron looked as if he wanted to sink through the floor.

Oh Eru. Lúthien was giving Beren the exact same longing look Beren was giving Daeron. Thingol shut his eyes and prayed for a battle, or an invasion of Orcs, or even a Kinslayer or seven. _Anything_ would be better than enduring this insanity a minute longer.

The Man continued, "Lúthien brought me to where he lived. I wanted to tell him how much I love him. I didn't mean to frighten him; I wished to propose to him."

This was more than the spectators could stand. As one they burst out laughing. Out of the corner of his eye Thingol saw Mablung and Oropher leaning on each other and laughing till they cried, while Thranduil fell out of his seat. Surely that hadn't been the chief councilor who sighed, "How romantic!", had it?

Daeron's face was redder than Caranthir's was rumoured to be. "If he wants to marry me, he can - he can - He can go steal a Silmaril!"

That sobered the crowd faster than Thingol or even Melian had. Beren was the only person who didn't look horrified. Thingol took one look at the Man's face and nearly groaned aloud. He already knew where this was going.

 

* * *

 

"I don't believe it. Didn't he know I said that because I didn't _want_ to marry him?"

Daeron gazed blankly ahead. Saeros shoved a glass of the strongest wine he could find at him.

"It's your own fault," the councilor said unsympathetically. "Telling him to steal a Silmaril, indeed!"

"How was I to know he'd agree to it? What else could I have said? Told him to go to the Void?"

"He'd have taken that literally, too."

"I suppose so." Daeron picked up the glass, but didn't drink. He stared at it as if it held the answers to this dilemma. Then his eyes narrowed. He reached over the table and slapped Saeros. "That was for laughing at me. Wasn't I embarrassed enough?"

Saeros grabbed a handful of Daeron's hair and pulled. "That was for that "the whole city knows" comment."

There was a halt in the conversation as the two Elves exchanged increasingly childish insults.

"What are you going to do?" Saeros asked when they calmed down.

"Leave the city until everyone forgets this ever happened. Maybe I'll stay with Nellas."

"What about the mortal?"

Daeron stared at him blankly. "What about him?"

"He's gone to steal a Silmaril for you."

"And he'll die before he gets anywhere near Angband."

"Oh, don't you know? Lúthien's gone after him."

 

* * *

 

Finrod had seen many odd things in his life. He had seen Fingon swimming in a fountain while wearing one of Aunt Anairë's dresses. He had seen Maglor scream and jump on a table when Aegnor suggested there might be mice in the room. He had seen Edrahil standing guard duty with bright pink hair. The sight before him now was not as odd as those, but it was still undeniably odd.

Yesterday a patrol brought in a Man with the Ring of Barahir. Several hours later, Princess Lúthien arrived. And early this morning an Elf Finrod vaguely remembered seeing in Doriath arrived looking for Lúthien. The Elf, who turned out to be Daeron, was now trying to convince Lúthien to come back to Doriath with him. Lúthien was too busy gazing at Beren to listen to him. Beren was too busy gazing at Daeron to notice what was happening. And just to make the situation more surreal, Celegorm was busy gazing at Lúthien.

There were times Finrod wished he'd stayed in Valinor.

"I am going wherever Beren goes!" Lúthien shouted.

"If you go anywhere with that man, _I'm coming with you_!" Daeron yelled back.

Finrod really wished he'd stayed in Valinor.

 

* * *

 

"What do you mean, you're going to help that mortal? Hasn't he caused enough havoc already?" Curufin looked like he was about to scream. "Celegorm has lost what little mind he once had - he was writing poetry for Lúthien during dinner. _Poetry_. It was enough to make my ears bleed. Now he's insisting on going with you on this quest. This morning I overheard Celebrimbor and the apprentices sighing about how romantic the mortal's obsession is. And-"

Finrod held up a hand for silence. "I know, I know, the collective intelligence of Nargothrond has dramatically decreased since the Doriathrim arrived. But I swore an oath. You of all people should understand that."

The cousins sat quietly for a moment, Finrod lost in thought and Curufin glowering at him.

"Have you ever felt that something is a disaster waiting to happen and yet you can't bear to look away?" Finrod asked suddenly.

"Yes. I feel that every time one of your councilors opens their mouth."

Usually when Curufin said something like this Finrod would give him a disappointed look. This time Finrod didn't seem to realise his half-cousin had spoken at all. "That's how I feel about this quest."

 

* * *

 

"I don't believe it." Daeron's voice contained no emotion at all. "You had Sauron - _Sauron_ , Morgoth's lieutenant - at your mercy, and you. Let. Him. Go."

"What was I _supposed_ to do?" Lúthien demanded. "Kill him?"

"Yes!"

Finrod ignored their bickering in favour of checking the werewolves Huan killed were really dead.

"Oh, for - I'm going to talk to Beren! He has more sense than you!"

"Fine, and I'm going to talk to Celegorm!"

"Your Majesty?" Edrahil said, watching Daeron storm over to the Man as Lúthien went in search of Celegorm. "I don't quite understand what just happened. Did Lúthien and Huan take on an entire fortress and _win_?"

Finrod sighed. "I don't understand anything that's happened since Lúthien appeared wearing a bat skin. I don't even know _why_ she was wearing a bat skin!"

 

* * *

 

By the time the motley band of Silmaril hunters - Finrod, Celegorm, an assortment of Elves from Nargothrond, Huan, and of course the three Doriath disasters, as Curufin had once called them - reached Angband, Finrod wished he had turned back after Tol Sirion. Daeron and Beren spent most of their time together, which struck him as odd considering how Daeron loathed Beren at the start of the quest. Lúthien was rarely far away from Celegorm. Those four were a bad influence on Finrod's Elves, who now spent alarming lengths of time staring into each other's eyes. Finrod had a terrible suspicion that he was walking into Morgoth's castle with a collection of lovestruck Elflings.

Alas, it was too late to turn back.

"Please tell me you have a plan." Finrod didn't beg, but it was a near thing.

"I'll put him to sleep with my dancing," said Lúthien.

"Don't be ridiculous! How can dancing put someone to sleep?" Daeron's near-permanent frown deepened. "Felagund, you can play the harp, can't you?"

"Yes," Finrod said, not sure what his musical abilities had to do with anything.

"Then you and I will put him to sleep with our playing."

 

* * *

 

The plan worked perfectly, despite Lúthien's last minute changes to it that nearly ruined everything. Really, offering her services as a minstrel? Anyway, everything turned out well. Finrod and co. left Angband with all three Silmarils.

Then the werewolf appeared.

 

* * *

 

The Halls of Mandos were a place of solemn reflection for the souls of dead Elves. Since their creation no one, not even Melkor, had ever dared raise their voice in Námo's throne room.

"You son of an Orc!"

...Until now.

Beren's fëa looked as shamefaced as a fëa could look while Daeron's fëa ranted at it.

"The werewolf was already leaving, you idiot! Why did you decide you had to kill it there and then, with nothing but a knife?!"

"It had swallowed a Silmaril," Beren said.

"Felagund would have organised a hunting party when he returned to Nargothrond!"

"But how many people would it have killed before then?"

Daeron opened his mouth. Then he closed it again.

"Anyway," he continued after a brief pause, "Lúthien was going to come after you. I refused to let her. So here I am-"

"Of course that's the only reason," Beren said under his breath.

"-and we are going back right now," Daeron continued, pretending not to hear.

"I am afraid it is not that simple." Námo had spent this conversation sitting on his throne and gazing down at the two souls with well-concealed bafflement. Now he decided to intervene. "Once a fëa leaves its body in death it cannot return. Daeron of Doriath, you will remain here until the time comes for your Reembodiment. Beren son of Barahir, you must continue to your fëa's destination."

"Over my dead body!" Daeron shouted, oblivious to the irony. "This nuisance of a Man has given me nothing but trouble and now he goes and dies on me and you think you can just send him off Eru-knows-where? You will return both of us to life, or I will stand here and sing that incredibly irritating, headache-inducing, never-ending song Tinfang Gelion taught me."

Something akin to panic appeared in Námo's eyes. "No! I forbid it!"

 

* * *

 

A week later, Námo had all he could stand. "Go! Get out of here, take your mortal with you, just _stop singing that song_! And if I never see either of you again, it will be too soon!"

"Thank you," said Daeron, as calmly as if there was nothing unusual about reducing the Vala of Death to tears.

He took Beren's hand and led him towards the doorway.

"By the way," Námo said, "would you please do me a favour, and remove a fëa that has caused almost as much trouble as you have?"

"Do we have a choice?" Beren asked. "What if it causes trouble?"

"No, you have no choice. There are some conditions it must abide by; if it causes trouble it will be brought back here."

"Very well then," Daeron grumbled. "Where is this fëa?"

Námo almost smiled. "Fëanor! Come here!"

 

* * *

 

Celegorm and Lúthien's wedding was a remarkably peaceful event. This made Finrod nervous. He didn't dare let himself think the peace would last. And sure enough, it didn't.

The happy couple had just exchanged vows when a terrible commotion arose outside the door. Finrod prepared himself for Ungoliant, or perhaps Morgoth himself, to come charging through the doors. Instead a panicked guard barged in.

He gestured wildly toward the door, apparently struck dumb.

"Well?" Finrod asked wearily. "What is it now, the end of the world?"

The guard babbled something incomprehensible. Finrod caught the words "killed by Balrogs" and "trick of Morgoth" and something about the dead rising from their graves. Then three figures entered the room, and everything became clear.

Curufin gave a kind of strangled screech and flung himself at one of the figures. Celegorm followed his brother with a deafening yell of "FATHER!"

Finrod stared at his definitely-not-dead uncle. Then he fainted.

 

* * *

 

"Let me be sure I understood you," Maedhros said slowly. "Because of some bizarre sort of love triangle that I will not allow myself to think about, Celegorm is bringing us all three Silmarils."

Maglor scanned the first paragraph of Curufin's letter again. "Yes, and his wife."

"His _what_?"

"Apparently while Beren and Daeron were, well, dead, Lúthien married Celegorm."

Maedhros spared a moment to wonder what Thingol would say about this. It didn't bear thinking about. "Celegorm is bringing us the Silmarils and his wife. What else does Curvo say?"

"He's staying in Nargothrond for the moment because Celebrimbor doesn't want to leave - oh, and because Finrod will have a nervous breakdown if left unsupervised. I suspect that's an exaggeration. He says there's been a rapid increase in the number of marriages in Nargothrond. I don't see why he bothered to mention that. Oh, the marriages are all among the Elves who went on the quest."

"Káno."

"Yes, Nelyo?"

"I'm not interested in Nargothrond romances. Tell me what Curvo says that's of any importance."

Maglor read on. "Apparently they went to all the trouble of carrying the bodies back to Nargothrond and having a funeral, and then they came back to life in the middle of Celegorm's wedding."

Maedhros tried to picture the scene. His imagination wasn't up to the task.

"They're married too and on their way back to Doriath to break the news about Lúthien to Thingol." Maedhros almost felt sorry for them. "And... I think Curvo's spent too long in the forge."

"What? What does he say?"

Maglor studied the letter. "Definitely too long in the forge, or he had too much to drink. I don't think he'd write this for a joke."

"Káno, _what does he say_?"

"He says Father's coming with Celegorm and Lúthien. Oh, and there's a postscript. It's in Father's handwriting." Maglor's eyes widened as he read it. "He says he annoyed Námo so much that he was released, and he was sent to Beleriand instead of Valinor because of the Kinslaying. It's a condition of his release that he can't try to claim the High Kingship and he must "atone for the Kinslaying". He doesn't say what that means. He sends his love and says he's coming here, then going to visit Caranthir and the twins."

The brothers looked at each other.

"At least the Oath's fulfilled," Maglor said, with the air of one searching for something to be happy about.

"Until Father swears another one. What do you think he'll do when he finds me like _this_ -" Maedhros gestured to his scars and missing hand "-and when he hears how Orcs threaten to overrun us at any minute?"

The two of them thought about their father's probable reaction.

"Is there anything left in that bottle?" Maedhros asked, gesturing to the wine bottle in front of Maglor.

"Yes."

"Give it to me. I need a drink."


End file.
